


Where We Belong

by loveinslowmotion



Category: One Direction (Band), Taylor Swift - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Haylor, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-26
Updated: 2017-05-26
Packaged: 2018-11-05 02:35:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11004186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loveinslowmotion/pseuds/loveinslowmotion
Summary: The last person Harry ever expected to see at one of his shows was Taylor Swift.





	Where We Belong

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a while, fam! I never really intended on writing this – the idea just got stuck in my head and I thought, well, why not! (the timeline isn't 100% accurate but it doesn't really matter) Thank you for all your continued love on [tumblr](http://alltootay.tumblr.com/) despite it having been ages since I last posted anything on here. I'll hopefully have something new and exciting for you soon xx

 

The last person Harry ever expected to see at one of his shows was Taylor Swift.

He didn’t even know she was there. He’d heard something about someone making use of a private box that night, but nobody had bothered to tell him exactly who his VIP guest was – or rather, they had been instructed not to tell him – and he hadn’t put too much thought into it. It could’ve been anyone, someone he knew or someone he didn’t. He wasn’t going to let curiosity distract him from putting on a good show.

Admittedly, it had taken a bit of adjustment to go from playing stadiums to more intimate shows, but with the connection he had with his band and his love for the music they were playing – not to mention the faith fans had in him – Harry was having the time of his life. It was different, but he was really, really enjoying it, and he was incredibly relieved that people seemed to be loving what he was doing, too.

With his arm slung over Mitch’s shoulders as they wandered around backstage, Harry was pumped with post-show adrenaline, the Nashville crowd leaving him and his bandmates feeling as elated as ever. The final screams from the audience were still ringing in his ears when they were interrupted by the _tap, tap, tap_ of heels crossing the floor.

Harry was drawn to a halt when he saw her, Mitch giving him a questioning look when he suddenly fell silent, his arm flopping off his shoulders and falling at his side. He followed his stare and he was stunned, too – though he had never before been in a room with the international pop star and had never experienced the kind of enchanting air Taylor unknowingly projected, so his shock wasn’t quite the same as Harry’s.

The last time Harry had heard from Taylor was back when his album had been released. She had sent him a message of congratulations accompanied by a thoughtful bouquet of pink flowers, because even if they weren’t exactly friends anymore, they were still friendly, and Taylor was too good of a person _not_ to extend her kindness out to him when he still meant something to her.

Not that she mentioned that part. Nor had Harry had the guts to say anything but a genuine thank you for her unnecessary gesture.

He hadn’t seen her in person for even longer than that. It was at a party of a mutual friend, and their conversation had only been short before they had been swept off by other friends, though they had stolen glances at each other throughout the night. He hadn’t even seen any pictures or heard any stories about her for months – the only thing he knew was that she was enjoying her extended break, according to Ed, who had given him a knowing smile when he had attempted to casually ask if he had heard from her lately. He was more transparent than he realised.

Whatever Taylor had been up to, it seemed to be doing her good. She looked refreshed and relaxed, like stepping back from the spotlight had lifted a weight off her shoulders. She walked with ease, which considering the height of the heels on her cute lace up boots, didn’t exactly seem like an uncomplicated feat.

She had certainly dressed up for the occasion. In a tight little skirt and matching crop top in black jacquard print, a pastel pink satin bomber jacket layered on top to keep her warm now the nights were getting cooler, it took a conscious strength for Harry to keep his jaw from dropping to the floor when she looked so effortless _gorgeous_. She had changed her outfit four times before she had left the house, but he didn’t need to know that.

Somewhat ridiculously, Taylor gave him a shy little wave when their eyes met, and Harry’s face lit up in that smile – his Taylor Swift smile, the one he didn’t even realise he had. He waved back, a bit too eagerly, and before he knew it his legs were urging him forward to meet her, where they hesitated for just a second before giving each other a hug.

“It’s so good to see you,” Harry told her as his arms encircled her small waist, genuinely meaning it. He breathed in the sweet mixture of her perfume and shampoo, a smell that, no matter how long they went without seeing each other, was still familiar to him.

“You were incredible! Oh my gosh, you actually made me cry,” Taylor laughed, pulling back and smiling at him truthfully, though she had touched up any evidence of tears with the make-up she had stashed in her handbag. “In a cool way, of course,” she added just to tease him, and the laugh she got out of him was loud and honest.

“You saw that?”

“Believe it or not, I haven’t spent this year living under a rock, as some might think. I have television and yeah, I saw it.”

“You’re not the first person to make that joke, y’know?”

“And I doubt I’ll be the last.”

They grinned at each other; it was often easy like this, perhaps _too_ easy. If they weren’t careful, they could fool themselves into thinking everything was 100% normal between them.

“What song?” he asked.

“Made me cry? ‘From the Dining Table’. I don’t think I was the only one in need of a tissue after that. Even _his_ eyes got a little misty,” she said, nodding her head back to where her bodyguard stood solidly a metre or so behind her. She’d gotten away with sneaking around without one in recent times, but she’d taken precaution with her trip out tonight, just in case. Of all the places she had miraculously managed to avoid being photographed, the last place she wanted to be spotted was at a Harry Styles concert. Even if her visit was an innocent one, they both knew the witch hunt that would ensue if anyone saw her there. A bodyguard couldn’t protect against camera phones, but she felt safer with one regardless.

_Was_ her appearance an innocent one, though? Harry recognised when she was dressed to impress, and with that short skirt and her trademark red lip, well… One could be forgiven for thinking she was trying to prove some kind of point, or purposely drive him crazy.

Whichever it was, it was working. As he introduced her to Mitch and the two started talking guitars, Harry could barely keep his eyes off her. He had so many questions – how was she; what had she been up to; what was she doing here; did she really like the show or was she just being polite; was she seeing anyone – and the whole time he was cursing himself for his urge to touch her again in the simplest of ways, just to feel connected to her.

Every time he thought he was over her, something popped out of nowhere and reminded him that he really was not.

When Mitch excused himself and headed off down the hall towards their backstage lounge, Harry silently thanked him for leaving them alone, Taylor’s smile landing back on him.

“He seems really nice,” she complimented, and he nodded definitely.

“He’s really fucking cool. We write a lot together.”

“Sounds like you make a good team.” She gave an understanding smile. “You really looked like you were having a lot of fun up there.”

“I’m glad it shows,” he grinned back. “So you liked it?”

“Oh yeah. I’m gonna go out and get myself a shirt with your face on it, just to prove it.”

Raising his brows, Harry tried not to laugh at her teasing. “It would be a great look on you.”

“Your face? On me?” Taylor gestured her hands in front of her torso, making him realise just what he’d said. His cheeks reddened, but she just smiled brightly at him. “You’d have to sign it for me.”

“Of course.”

Reaching for her Chanel bag, she pulled a small black purse out, sliding a crisp Benjamin out. Her nails were painted pink, one with a coating of silver glitter on top, and he stared at her in disbelief.

“You’re not serious.”

“ _You_ bought one of _my_ shirts,” she reminded him. “And I enjoyed myself, didn’t I?”

Taylor turned to her bodyguard, handing over the cash and politely requesting he step out for her. He was happy to oblige; he could easily pass as a father buying for someone else.

“Are you really gonna wear it?”

“I’m gonna wear it and dance to your album really loudly at 2am – just let that mental image sink in,” Taylor teased, though she wasn’t necessarily joking: she was known for her impromptu dance parties, as well as her penchant for the early hour of the morning.

“What’s your favourite song off it?” Harry wondered, a question he thought he might never get to ask her.

Taylor pondered for a moment, tilting her head just a little, her voice softer and more serious when she spoke again. “‘Sweet Creature’ is beautiful. And ‘Two Ghosts’…” She trailed off, unsure of just what to say, and in a way, he was glad she left the thought hanging. “It’s an amazing album, Harry. It’s very you.”

“Thank you,” he smiled at her appreciatively. He hadn’t realised just how much he wanted her approval until he had it. “Are you working on something yourself?”

“Ahh, that’s classified information,” she turned playful again, much easier than talking about them and what they used to be and whatever it was that they were now.

“I don’t think the answer would be classified if it were no,” Harry reasoned, and her guilty smile gave her away.

“I plead the fifth.”

Shaking his head, they both laughed. If she didn’t want to tell him anything, he wasn’t going to push. He wasn’t really in any position to be prying, considering they barely kept in touch anymore.

He sometimes found himself wondering how she felt about him, as pointless as it was. Did she still think about him like he thought about her? Did she see things that reminded her of him and have to stop herself from reaching out to him? Harry couldn’t go to New York without thinking about her, but he wasn’t so sure she felt the same about that sort of thing, not anymore.

What they had might not have lasted long, but that wasn’t to say it didn’t mean something. It meant a damn lot to him, and if the words to her songs were anything to go by, he had been important to her, too.

But was he still? Harry struggled to read her signals.

When her bodyguard eventually returned, he gave her her change with her shirt, a white one with his album cover printed on the front. Taylor thanked him kindly, and she held the shirt up against her body when she turned back to Harry.

“What do you think?”

Harry pretended to consider it, tipping his head and pulling contemplative expressions. She rolled her eyes, and he broke into a grin. “Quite nice,” he decided.

Returning her cash to her purse, Taylor fished a Sharpie out of her bag and handed it over, keeping still as Harry tried to neatly sign the fabric she held up against her chest. He rested his hand on her waist to keep steady, trying not to brush his other over anywhere he shouldn’t as he signed his name above the top left corner of the album cover. The space where his hand was left her with an emptiness when he pulled away.

“My whole life has been leading up to this one moment,” Taylor said dryly, and he bit back a smile.

“I’m so glad to have helped you fulfil your dream,” he replied seriously, only managing to hold his blank expression for a moment before he broke into a laugh.

She smiled as she slipped her pen back in her bag and folded the shirt, hanging it over her forearm. She glanced over his shoulder, chewed the inside of her cheek. “Sorry, I’m totally keeping you from your friends,” Taylor said suddenly, shaking her head as if just now wondering what she was even doing there.

“No, it’s cool,” Harry reassured her casually. “’s not every day we get to see each other.”

_Though he wished it was._

Taylor nodded, for a moment weighing up her options. “How long are you here for?”

“Not very.”

“Do you wanna come over?” she blurted out before she could stop herself. “If you don’t have any plans, of course.”

The rational answer would be to gently turn her down, to let this short meeting be it until they inevitably bumped into each other at another party or an awards show. But Harry didn’t have a good track record of turning Taylor away, and a grin spread across his face at the mere prospect of spending more time with her, just the two of them. “I can’t think of a better way to spend a night in Nashville,” he charmingly replied. “Let me grab my stuff first, yeah?”

He should’ve known that even as he hurried down the hall to their allocated room, a spring in his step, that Taylor would still be watching him. Still, he didn’t think twice about spinning around on the toes of his Gucci loafers in his thrill over her offer, not even noticing the way she giggled at him from where she waited.

His band didn’t make fun of him and his never-ending enthusiasm for all things Taylor, not like the jokes he would’ve copped had this happened a couple years ago. To be fair, all but one hadn’t actually _seen_ her, but that was beside the point.

Collecting his phone, wallet and key card for his hotel room, as well as the water bottle he had claimed before the show, Harry said his good nights before he returned to Taylor, resisting every urge to hook his arm over her shoulders like they were BFF’s.

They passed only a few stray crew members on their way to the back entrance, the pair of them getting some double takes as they passed. The two of them together was a rare sight – heck, _Taylor_ was a rare sight, what with the near non-existent profile she had been keeping over the course of the year. She tried to keep casual, but Harry could tell she had stiffened just a little in the presence of people she didn’t know, people who could easily whip out their phones and post a pic or simply tweet about seeing them. Would anyone believe it? Neither of them particularly wanted to find out.

With her bodyguard getting the car, a nondescript black SUV, and driving it around to the door for a swift pick up (heh), Harry opened the door for Taylor, his hand briefly resting on the small of her back before he climbed into the backseat after her.

Her bodyguard made conversation with him during the ride; he was a nice man, and Harry could see why Taylor had hired him to come along with her tonight. A local station was playing on the radio, and she tapped her fingers on her knees in time to the beat naturally, her attention drifting out the tinted window rather than constantly keeping up with what they were talking about. Harry knew she loved it here, that no matter what she did or where she went, Nashville would always be a place she called home.

The light from street lamps periodically beamed across her face, and Harry was glad he had a seatbelt strapping him in place to stop him from trying to kiss her.

He needed to keep himself in check if he was actually going to step foot in her house without royally fucking up whatever this was.

Taylor’s place was a two-storey, one that didn’t look absurdly large for just one person. In the dark, it was hard to tell how impressive it was, but the front yard looked neat and tended to, shadows of bushes and a tall tree darkening the lot. How many people had passed that house not knowing it was her that lived inside?

“Will you be needing a ride back to your hotel later, Harry?” her bodyguard kindly asked him, looking over his shoulder when they eventually stopped at the top of the driveway.

Before he could even think of an answer, Taylor cut in. “We’ll figure something out. I don’t want to take you away from your family more than I already have tonight.” She slipped him some cash, a tip on top of what he’d been paid. “Thank you so much. Tell the girls I said hi.”

“I will. It’s always a pleasure to see you, Taylor. Enjoy the rest of your night,” he smiled sincerely. “Good luck with the rest of your tour, Harry.”

“Thank you,” he smiled back.

They climbed out of the car and Taylor led him up to the front door, where she fumbled with getting her key in the hole before she before she managed to let them inside. She flicked the light on to reveal a warm, welcoming entryway, and she smiled curiously as his eyes took it all in. “Welcome to my hideout.”

As Taylor gave him the official tour of the ground floor, Harry found the whole place _very_ Taylor. It was elegant yet homey, expensive without being flashy. Harry loved the grand piano in the sitting room, all her framed photographs and artworks, the vintage pieces of furniture and other odds and ends that she had picked up from second-hand stores.

She ditched her shoes when they reached the kitchen, looking more comfortable as she padded barefoot on the tiles to pour them both glasses of wine. It was a nice bottle of champagne, one she hadn’t popped open in a long time. They deserved to celebrate, she said. He was hardly going to argue.

“So what have you been doing?” Harry asked her, leaning against the cool granite island countertop, glass in his hand. Taylor stood opposite him, taking a sip from her own glass before answering him.

“Lots of things. I’ve been reading. Painting. Gardening. I swam every day over summer. I’ve been working on a novel, but I doubt anyone will ever read it.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I mean, it’s not _amazing_ –”

“Bullshit. Everything you do you put your heart into and make it _really_ good.”

Her eyes lit up and she gave a soft smile at his words. “I don’t know, I’ve written some pretty terrible stuff. But thank you, I really appreciate that,” she told him, pausing a moment. “I’ve been baking a lot, too, even though it’s mainly just me around here. My mom’s like, _‘please, Taylor, stop coming over with so much food.’_ I think she likes it, though.”

“I wish someone was regularly delivering _me_ baked goods,” Harry laughed, and she set her glass down on the counter before she stood up straighter.

“We could bake something now, if you want,” she suggested, the idea clearly one she enjoyed. “Or you could try the coconut cupcakes I made the other day.”

“I quite like the sound of doing both, actually.”

And that’s how Harry ended up baking in Taylor Swift’s kitchen in the middle of the night.

With the sleeves of his shirt rolled up and his taste buds rather satisfied after scoffing the cupcake she offered, Harry followed Taylor’s instructions as they stood side by side, her reading from a recipe on her phone. They went for something simple, a chocolate chip cookie recipe that was prepared in a mug, a nice little treat for each of them. Harry snuck a handful of extra chocolate chips into his mouth when he thought she wasn’t looking, and Taylor just laughed at him when he tried to pretend he wasn’t chewing on anything.

While they left their cookies to bake in the microwave for the couple of minutes the recipe called for, Taylor insisted on showing him her garden, even though it was pitch dark out. She flicked on the outside light and slipped into a pair of ballet flats left by the back door, taking Harry by the hand as they stepped out onto the deck and holding her phone out in her other.

“It’s much nicer in the daylight,” Taylor assured him, leading him around an outdoor dining area and down the steps of the deck. They went around the pool, a cover keeping the water underneath free of all the dropping leaves from the lush bushes that decorated the perimeter of her garden, another two big trees giving the space some shade during the summer.

“The roses are my favourite,” she told him, flashing the torch on her phone around at the many gorgeous plants she had growing. “I’ve got white, red, pink, yellow – in a couple different types, too. It smells so beautiful out here in spring. I’ve found the whole gardening thing very therapeutic.”

She showed him a veggie patch – she had built the actual wooden box for it with her dad, and she was pretty proud of her efforts in that and everything she had been able to grow in it since. She had a cherry tree and a peach tree, as well as a nice little sitting area with an antique round table and matching chairs.

“I like your bike,” Harry complimented when he spotted a vintage cruiser leaning up against a small shed, stepping a little closer to her, his hand still in hers.

 “I’ve gotten into riding, actually,” Taylor smiled back at him, shining her light down between them. “It feels good to be… free.”

Squeezing his hand, she started leading him back inside, escaping the cold night air. Harry looked up at the sky, stars dotting the blackness, and he wondered what it might be like to sit out here and kiss her with all the roses watching.

He left his shoes by the door along with hers, not wanting to trail any dirt he might’ve picked up all through her house. They collected their cookies and their wine, grabbed some spoons, and settled on the sofa in the sitting room.

When Harry dug his spoon into the warm cookie inside the mug, Taylor watched him intently as he took his first bite.

“Wow.”

“Right?! Who would’ve thought it would be so satisfying to eat a cookie out of a cup?”

Giggling, Taylor tucked her bare legs up underneath her, spooning up some of her own. She was right: there was something unexpectedly fulfilling about it, but really, you couldn’t go wrong with a freshly baked biscuit.

They sat in a comfortable silence, delighting in their treats and each other’s company. There was the potential for it to be awkward between them – it _had_ been awkward for a while after their fallout, but over the years it had become easier. They had grown, healed, experienced different things on their own. Harry wasn’t a starry-eyed teenager anymore; he was a young man, a young man whose stomach still fluttered whenever she was around, that ridiculous butterfly tattoo of his seeming very appropriately metaphorical whenever she smiled at him.

God. What was he doing here, sitting as close to her as he was?

“Can I ask you something?” Harry suddenly found himself saying, Taylor’s eyes finding his before she gave a nod. “Don’t you get bored? Don’t you miss touring and everything?”

It had been that way for him: forcing himself just to relax until he couldn’t take it anymore, he _had_ to do something. He couldn’t understand how she didn’t have that same itch.

Taylor sighed, casting her eyes down, twisting her spoon in her empty mug, pushing around the tiny crumbs at the bottom. She thought for what felt like a long time, and he started to wish he had never even asked.

“I just needed to step back for a while. I needed to get to know _me_ , to figure myself out again without having a thousand cameras pointed at me all the time and everyone critiquing my every move like it was really any of their business.” She looked back at him, her gaze softer. “I felt like… I had this terrible fear that I’d… _peaked_. That I couldn’t possibly top my last album. It didn’t help that I lost a love that I’d had so much belief in and people just thought it was a joke, just another boy to add to my long list. I just felt… I needed to be me again. I needed to be Taylor, not Taylor _Swift_. If that makes sense.”

Harry nodded slowly, suddenly overwhelmed with longing to help, to do anything he could to help her feel at ease with who she was and the consequences of the life she had made for herself.

“It’s not like I’ve completely stopped writing music,” Taylor quickly let him know, correcting any assumption that might’ve been floating around. “I write when the inspiration comes to me. But I’m not, like, forcing it, y’know? The best songs are the ones that just come to you.”

“Will you play something for me?” Harry asked hopefully. “You don’t have to, if you don’t want to.”

“Oh, gosh, my cats are normally my audience,” she laughed, setting her mug on the coffee table before she stood up. “What would you like to hear?”

“Anything,” he said, leaning back against the couch as he watched her cross over to her piano, neatly sitting down at the stool and lifting the lid off the keys.

Before she even considered playing a single note, Taylor took a moment of thoughtful contemplation. There was a long catalogue of songs Harry had never heard, songs _no one_ had ever heard, and plucking one out of thin air wasn’t exactly the easiest of decisions. There were safe songs, songs that could hurt him, songs that could make him jealous, songs that could make him wish he had never let her walk away from him all those years ago.

Her fingers began guiding her into a slow ballad, forcing her into a choice she wasn’t sure she was ready to make.

It was hauntingly beautiful. Taylor’s voice was soft and flowing, laced with emotion that came with heartache. At first, he didn’t think it had anything to do with him – he thought it was about a different, much longer relationship. And perhaps she had drawn on many feelings when she wrote it, but two lines stuck out clearly to him as soon as they left her lips, two lines recalling a moment they had shared many years ago that couldn’t possibly be about anyone else. He stared at her so intensely she could feel the heat of it burning into the back of her head.

Was she seriously playing him a song inspired by _him_ , a song so ethereal, a song that sounded so much like an open letter to a past lover saying that running from the truth didn’t make it any less real.

Running. They were always running.

They circled around each other, floating around in each other’s orbit, never quite able to break free of their gravitational pull. They smiled, they saw other people, they pretended that there wasn’t any _what if’s_ left. But no matter where they went, they always seemed to find themselves coming back to each other, if for nothing but one conversation, one night together. They were intertwined like a stubborn vine: you could cut it back all you wanted, but it would only inevitably grow back, entangling itself in new knots in new places.

Sometimes, if you were lucky, in amongst all the complicated tangles, flowers would bloom.

When Taylor finished the song many minutes later, she sat very still. She didn’t turn to look at him, too afraid that the expression he would be wearing wasn’t one she wanted to face. But Harry – god, Harry’s heart was pounding in his chest and he was looking at her like he had never met anyone like her before in his life. He _hadn’t_. He doubted he ever would. There was nobody who could even come close to her.

There were so many things on the tip of his tongue at that moment, but he picked out only one truth: “You haven’t peaked. Shit, Taylor, that was…” He trailed off, brows creasing in thought, unable to find just the right word for how he felt. “You have a remarkable way of expressing yourself. I think… I think that’s why people love you and your music the way that they do. Because you make it okay to feel stuff. ‘s something I’ve always looked up to you for.”

Taylor dared to shift in her seat then, glancing over at him in surprise. “Really?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I mean, you’re such a talented songwriter. You’re very inspiring.”

In more ways than one.

A tender smile graced her red lips, and Harry stood up, Taylor shuffling further down the stool when he walked over to her. They sidled right up to each other, thighs pressed against each other, not quite enough room for the two of them to sit on the stool together.

“Do you play much?” she asked him when he started tapping a few of the keys without purpose.

“I’m a lot better at guitar,” he admitted, and she smiled at him as she interrupted and began playing a few opening notes he recognised well. _Very_ well. “Are you serious?”

_“Just stop your crying, it’s a sign of the times.”_

Harry couldn’t help but chuckle; somehow it didn’t seem so crazy that Taylor knew how to play one of his songs, that she was game enough to sing it in front of him with a glint in her eyes. He absolutely loved her voice and she knew that, and he was more than happy just to listen to her sing the very words he had written, to hear her bring something else to the emotive song.

When she smiled at him as she reached the chorus, nodding her head, he realised she wanted him to sing along, too.

They turned it into a duet, their voices harmonising together, taking turns naturally. He hadn’t thought of it as being performed like this before; it was amazing how intuitively they flowed together, that without a single practice they blended together near seamlessly. If he was honest, he had always wanted to work with her, for the pure reason that they just _connected_.

His mind was swirling when they finished their rendition of his song, and he really couldn’t think properly when Taylor smiled at him like that, so joyous and true. He didn’t mean to, he really, really didn’t want to tease them like this again, but an electric heat was pulsing all through him from where their sides were touching and he was suddenly overwhelmed with a need to be closer to her. Harry slid his arm around her waist as he leaned into her, their lips meeting for the first time in a long time.

It was gentle, chaste and sweet. Taylor was most certainly kissing him back, and yet he still pulled away when it occurred to him just what he was doing, his cheeks flushing as he stared back down at the black and white keys in front of them.

“Sorry…” he mumbled with a sudden shyness, and if he hadn’t been so afraid to look at her, he would’ve seen the rosy smile spread across her sweet face as she said, “It’s okay.”

With the sensation of her mouth still tingling on his lips, Harry played a few notes on the piano, as if they could really just pretend that hadn’t just happened.

“You know,” he spoke slowly, still not looking at her, “I think I’m going to have to politely request you don’t play any covers of my songs. That was _really_ good.”

Much to his relief, Taylor burst into laughter. “Oh my gosh, are you _threatened_ by me?”

“Your talent is too much for me to handle,” Harry teased, giggling as she nudged him with her shoulder.

“You haven’t even heard my version of ‘Sweet Creature’.”

“I’m sure it’s really _sweet_.”

Maybe they _could_ pretend it hadn’t happened.

Harry played around with the piano, making it up as he went along. Even as Taylor slipped off the stool and started flicking through a notebook she picked up off an end table, sitting by a vase of orchids, he kept going. He found himself with a guitar much more frequently than he did with a piano; he thought a bit of practice would be good for him, and as Taylor clicked her fingers at him urgently, he figured she agreed.

“Play that last part again,” she requested, and he went back over the notes, Taylor mumbling something from the page she had landed on.

“What’ve you got?” he asked curiously; he recognised that look, the one of trying to piece things together.

“I wrote these lines a while ago but I never got anywhere with them,” she explained. “I like what you’re doing, though.”

“I have no idea what I’m doing,” Harry laughed, repeating the rhythm he had found as Taylor grabbed her phone to record a memo of it.

Harry lived another one of his dreams tonight: he helped Taylor with a song. She mainly took the lead, while he offered suggestions of lyrics and melodies here and there, assisting her in making sense of the words that had been stuck somewhere in her brain, waiting for the right moment to pour out.

With a packet of gummy bears resting open atop the piano, Taylor having collected it from the kitchen so they had some sugar to keep them stimulated, they played around with things for nearly an hour. It just felt natural: they were both creatives, both with a multitude of ideas floating in their heads. It was a wonder they had never had the chance to do this before.

They recorded a rough version of what they came up with together on both of their phones. It was unlikely it would ever be done in a studio – at least, not with the two of them together. No matter how lovely their voices sounded together, no matter how moving the lyrics were, there would always be people firing unnecessary venom if there was ever a love song by Taylor Swift and Harry Styles out in the world.

Once they were happy with it, Taylor got up to stretch, her arms reaching high up above her head. “I feel like a weight’s been lifted,” she exhaled as she dropped her arms back to her sides. “I haven’t gotten through a full song in weeks.”

“Neither have I, actually,” Harry admitted, spinning around on the stool to face her. He hadn’t felt that spark of inspiration in a while, too busy prepping for the tour, and it felt good to get something down again, felt even better to have been able to help Taylor find that ember.

“Do you mind if I show Ed? I think he’d like it.”

“Go ahead, love.”

Checking the file had been saved safely with the rest of his various voice memos, Harry flashed her a smile as he glanced up from his phone.

“Taylor?”

“Yeah?”

“It’s 2am.”

It took her a moment to realise why he was telling her this, but a smile soon grew on her face and she ran off into the kitchen where she had left her bag earlier. When she returned moments later, she had taken off her jacket and crop top and had replaced it with the fan-shirt she had bought. He had predicted right: it _did_ look good on her, if he did say so himself.

She picked up her own phone and opened her music player, turning up the volume before she pressed play on his album. She didn’t go to the first song – if she was going to play it loud, she wanted something to dance to.

Her phone resting on top of the piano, Taylor twirled around with some interpretive dance until the guitar in ‘Only Angel’ kicked in, where she took his hands and swished her hair.

It was dangerous, the two of them starting to sing to each other like this. It was too easy to lose themselves in music, in each other, and as he rested his hands on her hips and sung, _“Couldn’t take you home to mother in a skirt that short,”_ seductively in her ear, there was a part of him that suddenly realised he had signed himself over to her the moment he had first laid eyes on her tonight.

It didn’t particularly help that Taylor _was_ an angel, or that it was quite obvious he wanted to make her his. It didn’t help either that Taylor flirted with him throughout the song, making him swallow a groan when she hooked a finger through the belt loop of his trousers and tugged his body right up against hers and reminded him, _“It turns out she’s a devil in between the sheets,”_ her lips almost touching his, teasing him more than she knew.

They let it roll over to ‘Kiwi’, which featured less of them flirting and brushing their hands over each other and more of them jumping around the room, trying to keep clear of the furniture. They looked incredibly ridiculous, dancing around overenthusiastically and singing far too loudly, banging their heads and playing instruments. It wasn’t the first time either of them had done this, but together – together it was hilarious fun.

Taylor collapsed on the wooden floor in a mixture of laughter and exhaustion as soon as the track finished. Harry joined her, the pair of them struggling to catch their breath when they couldn’t stop laughing, and when she rested her hand on his knee affectionately, he wasn’t sure if it was him who leaned in first or if it was her, but it didn’t matter. They kissed each other breathlessly, much more eager than before, their hearts leaping with fervour.

Gravitating together, they quickly intertwined, hands reaching for each other as the kiss deepened. It was gorgeously intense, the kind of kiss that they always seemed to find themselves in, a kiss that nobody could ever rival.

Lips red and glistening, Taylor bit down on the plump flesh when she broke away. She paused briefly before blurting out, “I’m not using you.”

Whether it was for his benefit or for hers, it made Harry’s glazed eyes widen. “I didn’t think you were.”

“God,” she sighed, pulling further back from him. “God, I’m sorry. I’m not– I just don’t want you to think I’m just taking advantage of you just because you’re here.”

“You’re not like that.”

Their silence fell thick in the air between them, Taylor terrified she had just managed to ruin the whole night in mere seconds, while Harry tried desperately to figure out what exactly it was that was going on in her head.

With his own voice in the background asking to be told something he didn’t already know, he decided to speak up.

“Can I ask you something?” He took her wordless stare as a yes. “Do you think we got a fair shot?”

“God no,” she answered immediately, traces of bitterness in her tone. “People acted like I deserved to be burnt at the stake just because I had anything to do with you. How were we supposed to even _begin_ to have a relationship when all that was going on?”

“I’m so sorry for that.”

“It wasn’t your fault. You can’t stop people from tweeting mean things if they want to.”

“But you never deserved them. You’re nothing but nice to everyone.”

“But apparently my love life is entertainment and yours shouldn’t even exist.”

He paused, trying to push away the truth of her words and focus on what mattered most. “Do you still… think there’s something between us?”

“Why do you think you’re here, Harry?”

In her eyes, Harry saw the things she was holding back. This was a girl who just wanted to live both her dream and have a normal private life. A girl who had disappeared for months on end because she didn’t want to be a spectacle anymore, to have cameras on her and stories about her life made up out of thin air. A girl who had taken to going around in a dark wig and her glasses in the hopes no one would recognise her as she immersed herself in regular life. A girl who went for bike rides at dawn when hardly anyone was around. A girl who read books so she could live other lives for a few hours. A girl who spent her time alone but wasn’t necessarily lonely.

This was a girl who just wanted to fall in love and have everyone be nothing but happy for her.

He couldn’t promise her anything. There was no use in telling her things could be different, because what did he know? They couldn’t control the things that were said about them, or the things said to them. It wasn’t in their hands.

He knew he was partly to blame for the torn look in her eyes, and while he couldn’t make any promises, there were ways he could try harder. There was always more he could do.

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” he murmured, echoing past words that had never lost their meaning. Harry tucked her hair behind her ear, his fingers delicately caressing her face. “You’re a hard one to shake.”

Taylor gave a small smile, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. “I don’t think many would agree with you on that.”

“I don’t think their opinion matters.”

The space between them closing again, Taylor kissed him tentatively, like it was a secret. “You excite me,” she whispered, her breath warm against his lips. “I needed to see you again.”

Their kisses deepened as Taylor climbed her way onto his lap, her skirt riding up high as she settled. One hand cradling her head, fingers tangled in her wavy locks, Harry’s other rested on the small of her back, occasionally gliding up and along her side. Their connection sparked bright and unmistakeable, and Harry hoped with all his heart that she understood what he was trying to tell her: that he had never, ever forgotten her, and he never wanted to. That he wanted her back in his life, and he didn’t think that was too much to ask.

Harry’s own album became mere background noise they paid little attention to, the rush of kissing after so long apart flooding through them and washing away all thought that wasn’t about the other. Harry drowned himself in Taylor’s touch, in the feeling of her hands brushing over his jaw, the nape of his neck, running all through his hair. Her tongue grazed against his and she had him moaning as she caught his bottom lip between her teeth, biting harsher than he expected. He was hard underneath her; she never managed to get over the thrill of turning him on so easily.

In what should’ve been a seductive move, Taylor pushed him down onto his back, only for Harry to misjudge his fall and smack the back of his head hard against the wooden floorboards. His groan this time was of pain, and Taylor broke away from his lips, her hand shooting up to her mouth in alarm.

“Oh my gosh, are you okay?” she quickly asked him, though her voice was trickled with laughter. “That was my fault, I’m so sorry.”

“Why is it always _me?”_ he smiled back up at her. Whether it was the time he had gotten his watch caught on a loose thread of the lace of her bra, when her intricate necklace had gotten tangled in his hair and almost ripped a hunk out, or when they rolled off the couch and he whacked his head on the corner of the table, it always seemed to be Harry who ended up fairing not so well when accidents happened. Not that he could complain too much when they always laughed it off, neither of them taking themselves too seriously.

“Do you think it’s a sign that we should stop?” Taylor wondered, and he rubbed his hands over her hips, smiling hinting more at a smirk.

“If the universe is trying to tell us anything, I think it’s that we should be more prepared, with pillows next time.”

“But I like spontaneity.”

“Then maybe it’s saying you owe me one for copping that.”

Taylor laughed, her giggles melting into his mouth as she kissed him again. “I don’t owe you anything.”

She kissed away his pretend pout, laughed louder when he suggested that her taking off her shirt would make him feel better about hitting his head. It was their typical kind of teasing, just as it was when instead of giving in, she climbed up off him.

“Where’re you going?” Harry whined, twisting his head to watch her step back over to the piano, picking up her phone to cut the music.

“I just thought, y’know, you should work harder if you want to get my shirt off,” she replied breezily, acting casual as Harry scrambled to his feet. He started to move towards her, and she flashed him a playful smile before she darted out of reach, glancing back over her shoulder as she dared him to chase her.

He always would.

Grinning, Harry bounded after her as she skipped into the next room, light on her feet. She led him through the kitchen and dining, let him catch her by the stairwell, his arms wrapping around her and trapping her close to his chest. Taylor giggled as he kissed her cheek, squealed when he swept her up off her feet and he spun her around in his arms. This was just the kind of thing she wanted to have.

Harry carefully carried her up the stairs, Taylor grinning the whole way as she kept a hold of him in case she slipped. At the top of the landing, he glanced down either end of the hall, laughing. “I don’t know where I’m going.”

“Well, that would depend where you’re taking me,” she giggled, swinging her feet. “My library’s the first door to the left. My bedroom’s the last door along.”

“A library, huh?”

When he strode over, Taylor pushed the door open and flicked the light on for him, and he set her down when they walked in. Up against every wall were tall bookshelves almost completely full, paperbacks and hardcovers arranged alphabetically in fiction and nonfiction sections. A little sitting area was placed in the centre, an empty coffee cup still sitting on the table, and he could only imagine how many hours she had spent in there, lost in other worlds.

“This is amazing,” Harry breathed in awe, slowly turning around as he took in the book-lover’s dream room. “Where’d you get all these?”

“There are a couple book shops in town I go to a lot. And I’ve gotten tons online, too.”

“You’ve really got yourself a nice retreat out here, you know?”

Taylor nodded, smiling warmly as she laced her hand with his. “If you ever need to get away…”

Harry accepted the offer with a kiss, pulling her in closer. Staying here with her sounded perfect – if only he didn’t need to be in another city in only a few hours’ time.

It didn’t feel quite right to be intertwining in such a cosy, literary room, so they whisked off into her bedroom, which had just as comfortable and warm a vibe. There were plenty of plush pillows piled on top of her bed, as well as a cat curled up in a furry ball right in the middle. They felt a little guilty for being a disturbance, but when Taylor kissed Olivia’s head and scooped her up to move her, the feline settled back easily at the end of the bed without much care.

They got themselves comfortable in each other’s embrace, kissing slowly for a long time. Their hands wandered under clothes carefully, their reacquainting touch familiar. They’d done this more than they probably should have: slipped back into each other’s grasp after many months, each time familiar yet still exciting, like they could never really tire of each other, could never really quite let go.

Harry kissed over her chest when she finally let him tug her new shirt off over her head, being gentle with her soft, pale skin. He admired her bra, a pretty pink little thing with a tiny bow in the middle, wondering if she had known all along that this would be how they ended up.

When they were down to their underwear, they slipped under the blankets, bare skin pressing warm up against each other. They kissed, made soft sounds, and Harry was so quiet, so sweetly shy as he whispered, “Do you want to? We don’t have to. Just want you to be happy.”

Taylor smiled at him fondly, stroking her thumb over his cheekbone. “You’re so cute,” she sighed, no doubt in her mind that she wanted him here.

They tangled up together in the most intimate of ways, if only for one more night.

 

*** * * * ***

 

Midmorning, Harry woke up alone, lying on his stomach in an unfamiliar bed with his face buried in a pillow that smelled like Taylor. It took him a moment to gather his bearings, to find Olivia stretched out near him, lazily licking at her paw. She looked at him when he stirred, but simply went back to grooming herself.

Climbing out of bed, Harry found his discarded boxers left abandoned on the floor and he slipped back into them, sure that it wasn’t quite right for him to waltz around naked in a place he didn’t really know. He ventured back downstairs in search of the beautiful girl he had wondrously spent the night with.

He found Taylor in the kitchen, humming softly to herself as she stood at the stove. She had pulled the shirt she had bought last night back on when she had gotten up, her long, lean legs on show underneath. Harry just admired her for a moment, taking advantage that she hadn’t heard him approach.

“Good morning, beautiful.”

Taylor jumped a little, his slow morning voice startling her. He gave a lazy smile as she glanced over her shoulder, smiling back at him cheerily.

“Good morning to you, too.”

“Whatcha making?” he asked, gliding over to her and wrapping his arms around her from behind, pressing his lips to her temple. In the pan in front of her was a pool of mixture forming a pancake, a couple already on a plate just beside her.

“What would you like with them, babe? I’ve got some berries in the fridge, or I’ve got some maple syrup, or some honey, or some whipped cream.”

“You’ve always got whipped cream,” he teased, and she turned her head to give him a kiss both as a good morning and to shut him up.

While Taylor continued making their pancakes, light and fluffy and not too thick, Harry washed some raspberries in the sink and deposited them in a small bowl, finding the whipped cream in the pantry and setting them both on the island. He made each of them a cup of coffee, chuckling at the mugs he grabbed out of her cupboard that were patterned with pictures of cartoon cats. It felt natural, easy, like there was nowhere else he was meant to be.

“Did you sleep well?” Taylor asked him as they settled in the stools at the island, piling berries and squirting whipped cream onto their pancake stacks.

“Very, thank you. Did you?”

“Mhmm.”

 Taylor squirted some whipped cream straight into her mouth, and Harry couldn’t help but grin at her, dimples flashing.

“You right there?”

“Let me live,” she mumbled through her mouthful, trying not to laugh and spit it everywhere when he started chuckling at her.

“What are your plans for today?” Harry wondered, cutting a piece from his stack and popping it in his mouth, reminded of just how much he enjoyed Taylor cooking for him.

“I hadn’t thought that far ahead,” she told him honestly. “How about you?”

“Nothing, really. We’re leaving tonight, so, you know.”

He wished he was staying longer – they both did. They always craved more time with each other, just a taste never enough.

“You can hang out here, if you want,” Taylor casually let him know, a small smile playing on her lips as she chewed a piece of her pancakes.

“That’d be cool,” he replied just as nonchalantly, both of them very aware of what they were doing.

They fell silent for a little while, Harry gazing out the window as he sipped at his coffee. The morning sun was shining through and outside her garden looked lush and healthy; he couldn’t wait for her to give him a proper tour in the daylight.

“Taylor…” he soon spoke, prodding a raspberry with the end of his fork, smiling down at it hopefully. “D’you think we could… hang out more? I’d really like to keep seeing you.”

Glancing up at him, Taylor smiled kindly, an excitement of potential sparkling in her clear blue eyes. “I’d really like that, too.”

Affectionately, she rested her hand on his arm, fingers gentle on his wrist, and he sighed in contentment.

There were no promises, but maybe the girl who believed in love was going to find it again.


End file.
